Ain't Got Wings
by serenelystrange
Summary: By request kinda .. I bring you Parker kid!fic. In which Parker becomes a child, & Eliot ends up in charge. Just a short, sweet, slice of life fic, no giant plot twists here. Hope y'all like! .. Title taken from a Lady Antebellum song.


A/N – Written as a semi-request for a friend. I don't generally write or read kid!fic.. but come on, Parker as a munchkin sounds adorable. Hope y'all like it.

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When Eliot finds Parker asleep on his couch one night, he isn't very surprised. What he finds the next morning, however, nearly makes him faint. In a very manly way, thank you very much. The sight before him makes absolutely no sense. When he'd gone to bed, Parker was curled up on the couch, wearing a loose t-shirt and dark jeans. What he's looking at now is a fallen pair of jeans on the floor, and an impossibly small figure huddled under that same loose shirt.

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He takes a step closer to the couch and crouches to the ground in front of the sleeping girl. And a girl is exactly what he sees. A tiny blonde thing, no more than four or five years old, cheek smushed into the couch in deep sleep. She's so frail looking, he's afraid to move too fast, in fear of breaking her somehow, as crazy as he knows it sounds. He finally settles on moving her messy blonde hair aside, so he can get a better look at the girl's face. Eliot's fingertips barely brush the girl's forehead before a sharp pain pierces his skin. He looks down in surprise at the tiny pale hand clawed around his wrist. She has sharp little nails. He doesn't pull away, though, doesn't want to scare her. Just holds still, waiting for the girl to open her eyes. Finally, she does, and her gaze locks onto his immediately.

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"Parker."

He speaks with a shocked whisper, but those big hazel eyes of hers don't lie. Somehow, this little girl before him, with razor sharp nails and haunting eyes, is Parker. Their Parker.

He sighs. It's going to be a long day.

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Eliot doesn't call the team, as much as he knows he should. To his defense, or so he tells himself, in a rousing internal pep talk, he isn't sure the whole thing isn't a dream anyway. He's half convinced he'll wake up any second and he'll walk into his living room and find a full sized Parker, fast asleep. But then she speaks.

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"Hello."

She's standing in front of him suddenly, where he's seated himself on the adjacent chair. Despite everything, he smiles. Even itty bitty Parker moves with indelible grace.

"Hi," Eliot says, unsure of how else to respond. He doesn't know what she remembers, if anything at all. Doesn't know if she's the same child she was originally. The thought hits him hard. He knows Parker had a rough childhood, to put it mildly. And now she wakes up in a strange house with a strange man, so much bigger than her.

Parker, however, doesn't look alarmed. She just looks up at Eliot again with those eyes of hers, the eyes that can make Eliot agree to almost anything, even without the bonus of belonging to an adorable pre-schooler.

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"What's your name?" she asks, offering Eliot a cautious smile.

"I... I'm Eliot," he responds.

Parker just nods, before giving Eliot's knees a shove and raising her arms in the universal sign for 'pick me up.'

Eliot reacts before he's fully thought, and pulls the girl onto his lap. She's so light that it's slightly terrifying. His swears his nephew had never been so fragile, even as a baby. Parker seems unconcerned, and busies herself with pulling at Eliot's hair, making quick work of the strands between her fingers. Eliot supposes he should be surprised when he finds several tight braids threaded through, but he really isn't.

"Do you know your name?" he asks her, as he bats her hands away from his hair, gently.

She freezes then, suddenly, and looks up at Eliot in alarm.

"I can't remember."

The next second, there are tears rolling down her face, even though no sound is escaping her lips. Her tiny body collapses under the stress and she falls to Eliot's chest with the sobbing.

Eliot panics, he's never been very good with crying females of any age, but luckily, instinct takes over and he hugs the girl close, rubbing her back smoothly.

"Hey, hey, darlin', it's alright. We'll figure it out, I'll take care of you, it's alright."

The words seem to do the trick and the silent sobs cease, leaving behind one tear stained t-shirt on Eliot's part, and one red nose on Parker's. She leans back from his chest, wiping her eyes with little hand. But she's stopped crying, so it's enough to let Eliot breathe for the moment. Parker looks up at him with a look in her eyes that he recognizes immediately. It's a look he knows all too well. He just stays silent and waits.

Parker, however, looks at him with hope in her still shiny eyes.

"Can you make pancakes?"

Eliot laughs in surprise. He's so accustomed to Parker asking crazy things, like for help testing her repelling equipment or the best way to break into a supercenter for fun. The simple request for pancakes simply catches him off guard. He smiles kindly at her.

"Of course I can make pancakes, sweetheart. Come on, you can mix in the chocolate chips."

Parker's eyes go wide with delight. Eliot nearly laughs again; they're never too young to love chocolate.

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"...and I like the ones that are shaped like stars, can you do that?"

Parker takes a deep breath, finishing up an exhausting sounding train of thought that Eliot had tuned in and out of, expertly.

"Sure can, sweetheart."

He flicks his wrist above the pan, grinning when the batter spreads perfectly into a star shape.

Parker's feet thump rhythmically against the counter where Eliot perched her. The t-shirt Eliot found her in is so long that it nearly hits her ankles. The tips of her hair almost reach her toes. She's looking at the pan with such focused curiosity that Eliot has to fight the urge to ruffle her hair, it's that cute. He figures that Parker may not appreciate being treated like a child, even if she is technically a child at the moment, when they figure out how to fix her. He changes the subject instead.

"So, do you like waffles too? Or just pancakes?"

Parker's feet freeze mid-thump, and she settles them back against the counter cabinets.

"Waffles are yummy," she decides after a moments debate, "But I like pancakes better."

Eliot nods noncommittally, and pushes the pan towards the air, flipping the star pancake with ease.

Parker gasps in astonishment as she watches the star flip over in mid air before plopping back down into the pan.

"You made it fly!"

Eliot smiles softly at her enthusiasm. Even now, Parker has an interest in flying. He finds himself speaking before thinking as he readies the breakfast dishes.

"When I was real little, like you," he pauses to give her an affectionate look, "My granddaddy used to make us all pancakes, every Saturday morning. Momma and Daddy, my sister and me, and anyone else who happened to be around. We'd all gather in granddaddy's kitchen and sit around his big oak table, and just eat until our bellies couldn't take anymore."

"Did you have syrup and butter?" Parker asks, entirely caught up in the story.

Eliot nods, "And cinnamon and powdered sugar, too. Everything you could want on pancakes. But even if we didn't, even if we never even had pancakes, we'd still go visit every week."

Parker doesn't say anything, but her expression clearly asks the question.

"After we ate, we'd sit around and listen to my granddaddy tell his stories. Stories about his momma and daddy and how they came to live in Kentucky and everything since then. Of course, half of it was imagined and near the other half was exaggerated, but we would've believed anything when he talked. He could've told us the moon was made of cheese, and we'd have asked for crackers."

Parker gasps, causing Eliot to look over to her in alarm.

"You mean the moon _isn't _made of cheese?"

Eliot tries not to laugh, the girl looks so crestfallen, but he can't help the chuckle that escapes.

Parker just pouts for a moment before apparently deciding she's over it and moving on.

"Does he still tell you stories?"

Eliot pauses, wondering how to explain this to a five year old, thereabouts. A child with no apparent memory of Parker's own troubled past. He decides honestly is probably best.

"No. Granddaddy died a long time ago, darlin'. It's been years since I've heard his stories."

"Oh." Parker looks up at him, empathy clearly written on her face. Seeing it almost makes Eliot need to catch his breath. He's not used to such open emotions with Parker.

"Don't feel bad for me," he scoops her up with one arm and settles her on his hip, "He loved us all, and I have a million memories to remember him by."

Parker grins, "Ok. Pancake time?"

"Pancake time," Eliot confirms, depositing her at the high top kitchen table, on a phone book padded chair. And to think, he'd wondered just the other day what the use for phone books was anymore.

He sets her up with her plate and a glass of orange juice before settling across from her with his own plate.

They eat in silence for a few moments, but then Parker looks up suddenly with a expression of curiosity on her face.

"Eliot?"

"Mmhm," Eliot says, around a mouthful of pancakes.

"Will you tell me some stories after breakfast? About your grandaddy?"

Eliot's glad for swallowing his food a moment before her words; he thinks the way his throat constricts at the question, combined with pancakes, would have made breathing difficult.

"Sure," he says after a moment, "But only one. Then we have to call Nate."

Parker just nods and shovels more pancake into her mouth.

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"I thought you were kidding."

Eliot merely raises an eyebrow at the just arrived Nate.

"Shit."

"Nate!" Eliot scolds, gesturing to Parker, who's busy coloring the coffee table around the sheet of paper he gave her.

Nate just rolls his eyes.

"She's not actually a child, Eliot. It's still Parker in there."

Eliot stares at the tiny blonde speculatively.

"She's not our Parker, not completely anyway. She doesn't even know her name."

Nate shrugs, "Neither do we, not really."

"How are you so calm about this?"

"I was an insurance investigator for a long time, Eliot. You wouldn't believe some of the crazy stuff you come across in investigations."

Eliot glares.

"Well, maybe you would," Nate amends, "So the question is, why are you so surprised?"

Eliot shrugs, "It's just.. weird."

Nate considers for a moment before nodding in agreement. Whatever this is, it's definitely weird. He moves to crouch in front of the coffee table and address Parker.

"Hi, Parker. My name is Nate. I'm a friend."

From somewhere behind Nate's back, Eliot snorts in amusement.

"Kind of," Nate admits, "It's... complicated. But I want to help you."

Parker looks up from her coloring, "With what?"

Nate looks to Eliot for a moment, confused, before turning back to the girl in front of him.

"We want to help you remember who you are, and how you got here. Do you remember anything before waking up this morning?"

Parker scrunches her nose as she thinks, pretty hazel eyes huge against her tiny features.

"No. I woke up. And then Eliot made me pancakes. And told me stories."

The sudden sound of fake coughing fills the air, but it doesn't stop Nate from looking to Eliot with incredulity before focusing back on Parker.

"Well, that was certainly... domestic, of Eliot. And you're sure you can't remember anything else? Eliot said that you don't even know your name?"

Parker pouts, "You ask a lot of questions. Eliot lets me color. I like him more."

Nate is taken aback by the stark honesty, even coming from Parker.

"I just want to help you remember," he explains, gently, giving the girl what he hopes is a kind smile.

Parker tilts her head and stares at him for a long moment, lost in thought, before finally speaking again.

"I don't want to."

Eliot moves to sit beside her and ruffle her hair. "What don't you want to do?"

"I don't want to remember."

Eliot and Nate share a surprised look, but say nothing. Eliot ruffles Parker's hair once more before getting up, motioning for Nate to follow him into the other room to talk.

Parker hums to herself as she draws; the coffee table a mess of waxy color.

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"We can't just leave her like this, Eliot, you know that."

Eliot growls in frustration.

"I know. I know, dammit. But how can we fix it when we don't even know how it happened?"

Nate shrugs, but he's thinking.

"Maybe Sophie will know something about this. Or at least know how to ask. I haven't told her or Hardison yet, though."

Eliot nods. "It might break Hardison's brain." He pauses, then grins. "We should tell Hardison."

Nate sighs.

"Fine, we won't tell Hardison," Eliot says, giving a sigh of his own. "And maybe we shouldn't tell Sophie either."

Nate goes to protest but Eliot silences him with a look. Not a glare, but something softer, almost pleading.

"Just for the night. Let Parker have a normal night like a normal kid. She's happy like this. She said so herself, she doesn't want to remember."

"Which only means that whatever she's remembering is something she's trying to forget," Nate says, nodding in agreement. "Fine. One night. But tomorrow, we're calling Sophie and Hardison, and we're getting this figured out. Hardison has some weird connections at a Law firm down in Los Angeles... this sounds right up their ally."

Eliot shudders, "Lawyers. I hate lawyers."

"Tomorrow," Nate says, with a pointed look.

He waves goodbye to Parker as he leaves, but she barely glances up from her coloring.

Eliot moves to stand beside the coffee table, looking down at the picture. He gasps in surprise.

"What is this?" he asks, gesturing to the table.

Parker looks up and grins toothily.

"It's me and you."

Eliot studies the picture silently. Even against the dark wood of the table, he can make out their figures, surrounded by blue, high above green and red. Leaves, he thinks.

"What are we doing?" he asks, taking in the clear raw talent of the work.

Parker looks up again, eyes shining with glee.

"We're flying."

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Later that night, Eliot whispers to Parker, with a serious look on his face.

"Alright, sweetheart, so you have to promise me that you won't tell anybody that I own this, o.k.?"

Parker nods eagerly, settling herself on the couch comfortably.

Eliot can't help but smile at how adorable she looks, bundled in an afgan, with all that hair splayed around her. Her arms are sticking out of the blanket, holding tight to a bowl of popcorn that's nearly half her size, but she isn't letting go.

Shaking himself out of it, Eliot finishes hooking up the dvd player to the T.V he's had in the closet since he moved in, and moves to sit next to Parker, pressing play on the remote.

The cheerful opening music plays as "Sleeping Beauty" begins. Eliot can't help but feel like it's fitting. Parker's tucked under his arm before the story even begins, but he doesn't mind. He just strokes her hair until she's fast asleep. And if he finishes the rest of the movie alone, well, he'll never admit it.

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Parker wakes up suddenly, heart racing as she realizes the ceiling she's staring at isn't her own. She tries to move, but a strong arm is draped across her shoulders, holding her tight against muscled legs. Panic finally calmly, Parker stops moving, having recognized the familiar jewelry on the wrists that hold her.

"Eliot?" she says, entirely too confused.

Eliot's eyes open instantly, but it takes a moment for him to focus. When he finally looks down, his arms pull away like he'd been burned.

"Jesus, Parker," he says, blinking against the morning light, "You're you again."

Parker sits up, stretching out the kinks in her back.

"That wasn't just a dream?" she asks, wincing at the crick in her neck.

Eliot moves to massage her neck, shushing her when she protests mildly.

"Ain't gonna hurt you, sit still."

Parker relaxes, and in moments her neck feels much better.

A moment later, she notices Eliot staring at her peculiarly, and she follows his gaze to her legs.

Her very long, very bare, legs.

"Oh," she says, noting how the shirt she's wearing barely reaches her thighs. "Where'd my pants go?"

"Laundry basket," Eliot replies, kind of hollowly.

Parker just nods.

"Are we sure that actually happened?" she asks a moment later, and Eliot isn't sure of which answer she wants to hear.

"Pretty sure," he says, moving to check his phone for the last call he made. Sure enough, it was Nate.

"Maybe it was just a dream," Parker offers, shrugging, "People can have the same dreams sometimes. Sophie told me."

The more Eliot thinks about it, the more he begins to like it. Even if the details, and Parker's partial nudity, don't exactly add up.

"Maybe it was," he replies, giving her a small smile.

Parker nods again and moves to stand up, but freezes.

"What is it?" Eliot asks, slightly alarmed.

"It wasn't a dream," Parker says, no hint of uncertainty in her voice.

Eliot follows Parker's pointing finger, swallowing hard when his gaze lands on the coffee table.

"You told me we were flying," he says, as he traces his fingertips over the colorful drawing.

Parker nods, "I've always dreamed about flying, for as long as I can remember."

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Silence fills the air as they try to think of where to go from here. After a long, tense, few minutes, Parker turns to look at Eliot with a gleam in her eye.

"Will you make me pancakes? And tell me some more stories?"

A genuine smile spreads across Eliot's face, and then he's laughing. At the absurdity of the situation, at the innate sincerity of Parker's request, at the memories that flood his mind at the mention of the old stories.

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A while later, they're sitting down to eat and Eliot just rolls his eyes at the way Parker pours maple syrup over everything. But she grins over at him as she's eating and he's learning quickly that adult Parker can be just as devastatingly adorable as kid Parker. Parker, happily oblivious to his internal thoughts, looks at him expectantly.

"Fine, fine," he relents, "I'll tell you one story now, but just one."

Parker grins.

"My granddaddy used to tell us this one story," Eliot begins, "About a girl he knew. They called her Sapphire, because of the intense blue of her eyes," his own blue eyes sparkle at the memory, "and years later, she'd become my granddaddy's wife... but that's jumping ahead. There's a whole lot more to the story before that..."

Parker nods and listens intently, pancakes forgotten for the moment. Her feet thump rhythmically against her chair and she imagines the sound is the heartbeat of the story, giving it life as Eliot speaks.

THE END


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